I hate that I love you
by spaceisburning
Summary: John moves to London and starts at a new school where he doesn't seem to fit in. Sherlock is assigned to show him around his first week. This is J/S, so haters gonna hate!
1. Chapter 1 Introduction

**Authornotes: So this is my first fanfic, I hope you enjoy it. The first chapter is short because I wanted to give a sort of introduction that invites to comment on the characters so far and get a feeling for the setting and such.**

**Feedback is highly recommended and will be taken in mind!**

**Now, enjoy the first very short (I know, I know, the other ones will be longer) chapter!**

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He had started to paint, since he was on his way of being thrown out of the flat when he played the violin late at night. It was not as soothing, but it still helped him to think and manage frustration. He had been up all night, and when he finally inspected the canvas he could do nothing but frown. It was rubbish, but at least he could go to school in a calm state.

Sherlock Holmes put on his coat, several nicotine patches and left 221B Baker Street. Making his way to the first class that morning.

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John looked up at the big building in front of him. No, big was an understatement.. The gigantic building in front of him sounded more appropriate. This was supposed to be his new school, and he felt out of place already.

He looked at the people around him, it seemed like it was the posh-people convention or something. John came from a family of small measures and was hardly used to see so many fancy cars and custom made shoes at once. Slowly he started moving towards the entrance, telling himself that at least it couldn't get worse.

When he finally had found his way to the school information desk the lady had given him a pitiful smile and then started explaining the rules of the school in such a way that it was obvious that she thought of John as some sort of lower being. After she was done with her moronic speech, she handed him his schedule and John turned to leave. But the lady stopped him and started explaining that everyone in the school was assigned to a guide the first week in school, she then stated that she would call out for the pupil who had been picked for this assignment.

He heard a loud screech as she turned on the speakers for an announcement, and he almost prayed to god that it better not be some hopeless stuck up prick coming his way.

"Would mr. Sherlock Holmes come down to the information desk, please.", A voice said through the speakers.

John leaned back against the wall and waited, anticipating the worst day of his life.

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**Let the reviews begin, please!**


	2. Chapter 2 Meeting

**Athournotes: My dear friend FelicisEcho has looked through all this for me and improving it, so thanks a lot for that! I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's only from Sherlock's POV so next will be from John's. Hope you like it!  
**

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Sherlock was relieved when he heard his name being called out by the exceptionally daft lady in the help desk. But when he came to the conclusion of why, he was no longer as thrilled as he had been. At least he had gotten a valid reason to leave the extraordinarily boring English lesson he had had at the moment. Slowly he started pacing down the schools main staircase. He was sure that the newcomer he was going to get assigned to show around wouldn't stay with him longer than necessary. Sherlock was very well aware of the fact that his behavior had a tendency to make people uncomfortable and angry, and was also the reason why his parents had thrown him out of the house and now paid for his current flat instead.

When he came down from the long staircase and saw the boy that he was supposed to meet standing by the damned help desk, he was a bit surprised. The boy didn't fit in, and Sherlock couldn't seem to figure out the reason to why he would attend this godforsaken school when it was so obvious that his parents had an income that shouldn't allow him to. There was a possibility that he had won a scholarship, but he didn't look like the person to even apply for one. Sherlock hadn't yet refined his deducting technique, but was still quite confident about them. So he determined that there was probably another reason, which would be discovered as soon as he had a conversation with the boy.

Sherlock walked up to the boy who was looking rather confused at the moment.

"Hello, I'm Sherlock." He quickly stated and extended his hand for a greeting. For a second the other boy looked even more confused than he already was, but took his hand and shook it.

"Oh, right. Yes. Right. I'm John, John Watson. Nice to meet you." The boy blurted out.

"Alright, I'm here to show you around. These are the stairs that lead up to various classrooms. Every floor is intended for one form, the lowest at the bottom. Yes that means that we have to work our way up to the top floor every bloody morning." He said pointing in different directions. "Right there is where the nurse has her office, that is the teachers' hallway and through that door we have the canteen. Questions?" John looked up at him as if he was talking in another language. Sherlock frowned slightly at him, and looked at John who seemed rather uncomfortable. "Look. If you don't want to do this, then you really don't have to. I can manage." John said slowly, slightly blushing.

Sherlock looked at him and frowned again. It seemed as if John had misinterpreted his words as hostile. Obviously Sherlock wasn't thrilled about the situation, but he didn't have anything against spending some time with a person who didn't look at him with disgust. Plus, Sherlock had to admit to himself that John was quite intriguing.

Just as Sherlock was about to reply the lunch bell rang and a stream of schoolchildren started to make their way down the broad staircase. Sherlock grabbed John's arm and dragged him out to the park surrounding the school.

"I'm sorry about that, but lunchtime is quite unpleasant around here." He said looking at John. Then it struck him that normal people eat, and he was slightly confused with what to do. "Well, if you wish to eat you can go inside."

"Aren't you going to eat?" John asked.

"I don't really do that."

"Do what?"

"Eat."

John looked at Sherlock in disbelief.

"You don't eat? You are kidding me right?"

"Why would I joke about that?"

"No, I mean. It's just a saying, I didn't mean that you had told a joke."

"Oh, right."

John looked at him and he noticed that John had quite a soothing eye color. A color most people would consider beautiful. All in all John wasn't unattractive, average, well built and he seemed to have a personality most people would be drawn towards. That is if Sherlock had read him correctly. Sherlock frowned at how extremely annoying his own mind could be when noticing such unnecessary details.

"So what do you do when other people eat lunch?" John suddenly asked.

"I usually go home." Sherlock replied, suddenly feeling an itch on his right arms. He pulled up his sleeves and started to rip off the nicotine patches he had put on the same morning. He saw John's chin drop to the ground.

"For Christ sake!" He shouted. "What the hell is that Sherlock?"  
Sherlock flinched as he heard real worry in John's voice.

"Nicotine patches." He said slowly.

"Why on earth would you put nicotine patches all over your arms?"

"They help me think."

"Can't you do anything else to think?" John said with a hint of panic in his voice.

"Of course I can, but not while I am in school. I would probably get thrown out."

Suddenly the bell rang again, initiating that classes where about to begin. John drew out his schedule from his pocket and gave it a look.

"I have biology now." He said.

"I'll show you the way." Sherlock said, and the boys made their way into the school building.

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**Now, reviews are very appreciated so go ahead and say what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3 Lovestruck

**Authornotes: Just want to apologize for any mistakes in the following chapter. I have read it through tons of times, but I bet I've missed a lot anyway. I hope you can see past that though and enjoy it anyway.  
Also, I wanted to say that it might take a little longer for the next chapter. I have a lot of schoolwork right now and it's really time I start studying a little, so please be patient! **

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At first John had thought that Sherlock didn't like him and was trying to get rid of him. But the more time they'd spent together John had realized that Sherlock just was... Well, Sherlock and he seemed to have a LOT of issues where addiction only was one of them.

John had always been drawn to people who where troubled or needed help in one way or another, so you could say that Sherlock was his ideal guy. Then there was also the fact that he was ridiculously handsome. His perfect black curls, his grey eyes and those wrinkles round them when he smiled. It was probably the most beautiful face John had ever seen.

He shook his head. What was wrong with him, sitting and fantasizing about a guy during class. John wasn't gay. He'd never been attracted to another bloke before, and he was very confused now that he had a major crush on one.

"Are you coming?" Sherlock suddenly asked.

John had been so deep into his own thoughts that he hadn't heard the bell ring, or even noticed that the whole class had gone already.

"Yeah, sorry. This was the last class for the day right?" He asked quickly, trying to ignore that lovestruck mind of his.

"Yes." Sherlock stated as John started to gather his things, fumbling a little since he couldn't move his left shoulder properly. He saw Sherlock looking at him impatiently, his brows slightly furrowed as if he was worried about something.

When John was finished Sherlock walked away towards the stairs, but then suddenly turned around again to face him.

"You where in a military school before. Why did you switch school? Injury?" He suddenly asked.

John looked up in shock. How could he possibly know that? He hadn't told anybody as far as he knew.

"How the bloody hell do you know that?"

"Obvious. The way you hold yourself, and your muscle mass say hard training. Most young people don't train as hard and precisely as you have unless they have are forced to. Therefore - military school."

"Wow."

"And the injury?"

"Anterior dislocation in the shoulder." John replied slightly blushing at the memory.

"Of course. That explains your limited movements. So you want to be an army doctor then?"

"Yes. How did you know that too? Are you stalking me or something?"

"No. I noticed in Biology class that you where utterly bored since you already knew everything and only seemed interested when the teacher said something that doctors have to know."

"Right. Well in my previous school we where trying to do biology as quickly as possible so that we could be let off. That way we could focus more on military training the last year, so I have already done all this. But I certainly don't mind some repetition when it comes to things that might come in handy for studying at Bart's."

"Obviously there was something shameful about the way you got injured." Sherlock stated totally out of context, watching John closely.

"No, not really. Why would you think that?"

"Since you blushed."

"You're brilliant."

"You think so?" Sherlock asked showing an expression of surprise, though it lasted for less then a second.

"Yes. Quite extraordinary really."

"About that injury, you don't seem very keen on talking about it." Sherlock answered trying not to show that he actually was flattered.

John sighed. He'd already gotten used to Sherlock's behavior.

"It's just that the kids from my school called it heroic. But it got me expelled. Stupid really."

"Oh, tackled a teacher did you?" Sherlock smirked, very pleased with himself.

"He deserved it." John stated, trying to defend himself.

Sherlock looked at him curiously, but John decided to ignore it. He wasn't especially proud of what he had done, even though there was a good reason for it.

The boys had made their way downstairs and where now exiting the main entrance. They made their way through the big park and headed out on a big street with heavy traffic. John felt like stepping into another century when leaving the quiet park and old-fashioned school behind and walking into a street with huge traffic jams so suddenly.

They had made it about five inches from the park gate when they heard somebody shouting Sherlock's name behind them. They turned around and John could se a thin brown-haired girl running towards them. He recognized her from one of his classes, but couldn't really place her.

"Ah. Molly." Sherlock said when the girl came up to them.

"I got those things you asked for from daddy's office earlier." She said while trying to catch her breath.

"Excellent." Sherlock stated with a small smirk on his lips. He took a small plastic bag from the girl's hands and started checking it thoroughly, pulling out small glass bottles and mumbling to himself.

"I'll just, you know. Leave you to it then." Molly said a little insecurely, and when she didn't get an answer she left looking slightly disappointed.

Suddenly Sherlock also started to walk away, leaving John without a word. John stood there not knowing what to do. He looked around trying to figure out where he was since he still didn't know London very well, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Sherlock standing there with a serious expression on his face. He'd come back, and John let out a sigh of relief when he realized he hadn't been left alone after all.

"You've run away from teachers a lot right?" Sherlock asked, expression not changing.

"You could say that, yeah."

"Fancy some running from the police?"

"God, yes." John answered, following Sherlock to wherever they where going.

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**REMEMBER, REVIEWS ARE SOMETHING GOOD. NOT BAD. GOOD. EVEN IF YOU CRITICIZE MY ARSE OFF, REVIEWS ARE STILL SOMETHING GOOD.**


	4. Chapter 4 Baker street

**A/N: **Sorry for the long wait! This chapter is a little longer than the other ones though, hope it compensates a little. Big thanks to FelicisEcho, who looked over this and corrected some things for me. All mistakes that remain are mineminemine!  
Anyway, enjoy!

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Sherlock looked over at John who had fallen asleep in the armchair across from him. His lips where slightly parted and his head lay against the armrest. After school Sherlock had taken John to one of the many abandoned buildings in London so that he could conduct his tests of how to create the sound of a bomb without actually blowing anything up. The police had appeared and they had run away grinning towards each other like children on Christmas. Then they had ended up in Baker Street and John had fallen asleep in one of Sherlock's armchairs. Sherlock felt warm inside as he watched John move in his sleep and he was surprised that he could even have those feelings. His fingers where shaking because of his need of nicotine, or something stronger. He wasn't really sure of what he was addicted to the most anymore. He looked towards his stash of weed under the skull on top of the fireplace, but decided that he best not in case John should wake up. Instead he opened the window and lit a cigarette. He inhaled each draw deeply and felt his body relax a bit.

He thought over his emotions. They where alien, not unwelcome but definitely not very wanted either. He had never had those feelings before; he hadn't even thought himself capable of them. He was surprised, something he hadn't been in years. But he accepted the fact that each time he looked at John he felt what people would call happy, a sort of euphoria no drugs could replace. Even though they hadn't known each other for more than a day, Sherlock already had a crush. Even though he tried to be logical about it, he still couldn't quite understand it.

Suddenly he heard movements behind him, he turned around and saw John walking towards him. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and came up to the window. He leaned his elbows against the windowsill, putting his chin in his hands.

"I thought you where using the nicotine patches because you where giving it up." He stated, nodding toward the cigarette between Sherlock's fingers.

"There's a lot less nicotine in one cigarette than in several nicotine patches." He replied.

"So?" John asked confused. Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Sometimes the nicotine from one cigarette just isn't enough for me. And it is impossible to get the same effect from smoking several cigarettes at once." Sherlock replied while throwing the butt out of the window.

"Can I ask you something?" John said carefully.

Sherlock could see the doubt in John's face, was that a hint of worry as well?

"Whether or not I use stronger drugs?"

"How th- Right. Yes. Do you?"

"Occasionally."

"And that's supposed to mean?"

"Occasionally, adverb, meaning; sometimes, from time to time, now and then."

"I know what the word means Sherlock, my question was; how often is occasionally?"

"Whenever I get bored enough." Sherlock replied, walking away from the window.

He was getting bored with the questioning. He heard John closing the window behind him, letting out a big yawn.

"You can sleep in my bed if you like." Sherlock said with his back turned to him.

"Wha- No. No way, no."

"Why not?" Sherlock turned to look at him.

"Well, because it's your bed. You should sleep in it." John said waving his hands in the air. "I can take the sofa."

"I think you'd find sleeping on the sofa rather unpleasant."

"And why is that?"

"Since I probably will be sitting on it from time to time while you sleep."

"You're not sleeping?" John asked while shaking his head in disbelief.

"No." Sherlock said as he plunged down on the sofa.

"Don't eat, don't sleep, addicted to drugs. That's just real dandy." John muttered to himself as he walked into Sherlock's bedroom, giving up the fight.

Somehow it hadn't felt as odd as he'd thought to lie in Sherlock's big bed. The sheets were soft and John could feel a mild scent of Sherlock's cologne on them. He curled up and smiled a little as he closed his eyes, realizing that he hadn't actually gotten a clear answer about the drugs. He sighed; he was hopeless. Why did he have to start fancying a stuck-up drug addict? Of all the people on earth, it had to be Sherlock. John shifted position, but then fell asleep without having time to reflect upon it further.

John felt the sunlight touch his skin as he slowly woke up. He stretched his arms in the air and let out a big yawn, then tumbled out of the bed still half asleep. He went to the kitchen and started to make himself a cuppa when he heard a door open and close. Sherlock came into the living room carrying a brown paper bag with groceries in his arms.

"Mornin'" John said, his voice a little hoarse from sleepiness.

Sherlock turned around opening his mouth, then closed it again staring at John with an expression of slight shock. Confused with Sherlock's expression John looked around, and then looked down at himself. A deep red blush crept up from his neck to his ears as he realized that he was standing in nothing but a pair of maroon boxers.

"Shit. Um- so sorry. I- I kind of forgot where I was." He stuttered suddenly wide-awake. "Yes. Right. Sorry. I'll just go get dressed"

"No. That's- it's fine. It's fine." Sherlock said, bringing himself back together and trying to sound indifferent. "I brought you some breakfast." He said abruptly just to change the subject. He went over to John and put the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. "You will have to make it yourself though. I believe you wouldn't find my cooking very pleasing."

John looked at Sherlock as he strode away to sit down in the living room, picking up a book to read. He found himself brooding over Sherlock's expression when he had walked through the door and seen him. There had been no sign of contempt or disgust, just surprise. John had also noticed a small blush, or was he just wishing? He fought his thoughts back and started to look through the bag that Sherlock had brought. He found some scones, jam and a couple of eggs that he decided to use.

After a little while he put a plate and a cup of tea in front of Sherlock, and then a second in front of himself. Sherlock looked up at the sound. When he saw the plate of food in front of himself he looked at John with a small glare and then back at his book. John grabbed the book, and shoved it under the cushion on top of the armchair so that he sat on it.

"Eat." He said looking at Sherlock with a serious expression.

"No, thank you." Sherlock replied with a hint of childish stubbornness in his voice.

"You're not getting your book back until that plate is clean."

"I'll live."

John started eating without giving Sherlock another glance, trying to prove his point. Sherlock started standing to walk away, but John quickly grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back in the chair with one hand. Before he could remove his hand though Sherlock had grabbed his wrist and locked his eyes on John's. He sat like that for a couple of seconds then let go. John could feel his heart start beating slightly faster, but kept on eating trying not to show any emotion. From the corner of his eye he could see Sherlock starting to pick at his food, slowly giving in. John smiled to himself, proud that he'd actually managed to win an argument with him.

Sherlock turned the radio on. John had been told to go home after calling his mother. It seemed she hadn't been very worried about him, even though he'd forgotten to call her the day before. Sherlock had the urge to know why, but he refused to deduct the reason himself. If John wanted him to know then he would tell him some day.

_I have been broken open_

_This was not my master plan_

_I was comfortable watching from the stands_

_I have been broken open_

The words slipped into his ears, working their way into his brain where he registered them. This was the first time he felt that he could actually identify himself with something so simple.

**Detach Sherlock, detach yourself**. He tried to calm himself, but a picture of John in nothing but a pair of maroon boxers kept making its way into his conscience.

_All my edges are exposed_

_I was once content alone_

_Now you are the one that I call home_

_I've been broken open_

Sherlock threw the radio across the room in frustration. It smashed into pieces as it hit the wall. For a couple of seconds he felt a little better, but then something that could be described as a void settled inside of him. For the first time in his life someone his age genuinely liked him. He shouldn't have these emotions; have this need to be with John. He shouldn't feel lonely without him. But he did.

He'd known John for roughly 30 hours, and he had already become Sherlock's new addiction. Because that was how he felt, like John was a drug and now that he had left Sherlock had abstinence.

John stormed through the door into the Gregorian building where he'd moved back in just the other day. His mum had sounded drunk on the phone, which was early even for her. She'd taken to the bottle shortly after his dad was deported to Afghanistan during the summer. All women on her side of the family either were or had been alcoholics. He rummaged through the rooms and found his mother spread out on her bed with a peaceful expression on her face and a picture of his father in a tight grip that probably was a hug before she fell asleep. He sighed in relief after checking that her pulse and breathing was regular. He then removed her shoes and tucked her in. He placed a small kiss on her forehead before he walked out of the room. She moved, but didn't wake up.

He strode down to the kitchen, and started to make himself some tea. It was his fourth cup that day. He leaned against the counter when he felt something vibrate in his back pocket. He pulled out his mobile phone and saw a new text.

**Come back tomorrow –SH**

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****Rate, review, alert, favorite or whatever. Your comments mean **A LOT **to me!


	5. Chapter 5 Meeting Mrs Hudson

**A/N: Forgot to tell you in the last chapter, but the lyrics to the song that was playing on the radio are from the song Broken Open by Cold War Kids and not my own! It's a great song, I recommend it.**

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When John came into the kitchen that morning he was met by an unusual sight. His mother was cooking breakfast and humming to herself. He stood there for a while just looking at her. He had missed this; she used to do it every weekend when he was younger. When she noticed that he was in the room she spun around and looked at him with a broad, warm smile on her face. She was shining, and he almost started crying because he hadn't seen his mother like this in a long time.

"Your father is coming back soon." Her eyes glittered as she spoke.

Just as fast as his joy had come, it vanished. His smile was gone and his stomach twisted. This was not the first time John's father had told the family that he would be coming back soon. And each of those times he hadn't. John knew that the war was hardly over and that his father was not coming back for at least another year. He also knew how hard his mother would take that news and he was definitely not going to be the one telling her. His father was the one who had lied, so he would be the one to explain it to her and John was not going to wait around to see her reaction. He already knew exactly how she would anyway and it wasn't a pretty sight. She would tell her husband that it was all right, that she understood and that she was fine with it. Then she would put on his favourite record and get so pissed that she'd have a headache for several days after.

So John just looked up and smiled with an expectant grin.

"Is he? Really? Can't wait!"

"Yes! Would you like some breakfast darling?" She smiled that unknowing smile again and John swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Nah- I'm good. I'll eat with Sherlock."

"Sherlock. Who's that?"

"It's just this bloke in my school. We sort of became friends yesterday and he thought we should hang out."

"That's lovely John! I'm so happy! Here, take the cookies I baked along to him."

On the inside John was utterly confused. Since when did his mother get up and bake cookies in the morning? He was starting to suspect an alien abduction. On the outside though John just smiled, took the chocolate chip cookies, said his thanks and walked out the door.

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Sherlock plucked on the strings of his violin a little, then put it under his chin and started to play. Soft, tender tones started to fill the room. He was feeling extra creative (and very emotional) since he'd taken a spliff not too long ago. The music flowed through his body and mind. It turned from angry to sad and then harmonic again and it was beautiful. He was trying to express everything he held inside him. He hated to put those things into words, so he translated them to music instead. After a while the drugs had worn off and he felt empty of emotion. He felt like he had screamed out all his worries and like there was nothing left to say. His throat was dry from the drugs and when he turned around to head to the kitchen Mrs. Hudson was standing behind him with tears in her eyes.

"That melody reminded me of my first love. I'd forgotten up until now." She said while trying to see some sort of expression on Sherlock's face.

But he simply nodded and walked past her, keeping his mask in place. He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter as he drank.

"Is everything alright dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked. She looked at him with a curious gaze, still trying to read some sort of emotion.

"Yes. It's fine Mrs. Hudson." He replied in a harsh tone of voice, starting to get a little annoyed.

"Alright. Have you eaten anything?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Hudson looked at him sceptically one more time before turning around to leave the room. Her motion was broken off though as the door to the flat opened and a blond boy popped his head inside. He looked at Sherlock who was standing with his back towards him and then blushed when he noticed Mrs. Hudson staring at him.

"Sorry. I did knock but nobody answered the door." He said apologizing.

At the sound of his voice Sherlock swiftly turned around. His face had lightened up. It would be unnoticeable to most people, but Mrs. Hudson could se that his face had relaxed a little and the corners of his mouth had turned up slightly.

"John!" He exclaimed, his voice also a little lighter than before.

He grabbed John's wrist and pulled him through the room then pushed him down in a chair.

"Mrs. Hudson tea, please if you wouldn't mind."

"I'm not your housekeeper Sherlock." She replied as always with a smile on her face.

"And biscuits too." Sherlock said grinning.

She left the two boys alone and went down to start making tea, even though she'd told herself she wouldn't.

John looked up at Sherlock who'd seated himself in the other armchair.

"Mrs. Hudson, the landlady." Sherlock said, as an answer to John's confused expression.

"Yes. Of course." John said and let out a little laugh.

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The boys had been sitting and talking for hours, drinking tea and laughing. Neither of them had ever felt more comfortable with another human being before.

"John, I-" Sherlock started saying after a short silence between them, but his sentence was broken off as John's phone started to ring. John looked at the screen. It was Harry, which probably meant that it was something important since she never called him otherwise.

"Sorry, I have to get that. It's my sister." He said with a small frown.

"Sister? Damnit." Sherlock swore under his breath.

"What? Yes."

"I guessed brother." Sherlock admitted.

John shook his head and the put the phone too his ear.

"Yes?"

"_John? John! You have to come to the hospital it's mum, it's- well it's pretty bad. Just hurry, take a cab ok?"_

John heard the words, but they didn't really sink in. He was staring at Sherlock not knowing what to do. _Shitshitshit._ He saw as the other boy picking his own phone and he saw his lips moving, but he couldn't hear a thing. Then he was being dragged out of the flat and down on the street and Sherlock pushed him into to a black car with dark windows. _Wait, that's not a cab… _was the last thing he thought before he passed out.

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**SUUUUSPEEEEENCE! I'll write a longer chapter next, prooooomise!**

**Love all reviews and stuff, it makes me so happy when you follow and favorite and everything!**

**I'll try to update quicker now that I have vacations as well!**


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